


You Taste the Wine

by AliaCivis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Post-Canon, Takes place immediately after the last espisode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19174420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliaCivis/pseuds/AliaCivis
Summary: Aziraphale's voice never reached above a certain volume but, even with crowds around them cheering on gladiator fights or charging forth into battle or beginning bloody revolutions, Crowley had always been able to hear every word he said. Tonight, though, surrounded by the low but constant hum of hushed conversation from other diners at the Ritz, Crowley let Aziraphale's easy chatter sink into his brain without really hearing it. He was too busy looking.





	You Taste the Wine

Aziraphale's voice never reached above a certain volume but, even with crowds around them cheering on gladiator fights or charging forth into battle or beginning bloody revolutions, Crowley had always been able to hear every word he said. Tonight, though, surrounded by the low but constant hum of hushed conversation from other diners at the Ritz, Crowley let Aziraphale's easy chatter sink into his brain without really hearing it. He was too busy looking.

He had never quite managed to forget what Above had been like, and when Aziraphale was happy, his whole face shone so bright it was like his skin couldn't contain the little bit of Heaven that lived inside. Right now, he was glowing with such an aura that Crowley was surprised the whole restaurant wasn't captivated.

Happy was perhaps not quite the right word to describe how Aziraphale currently looked, although that definitely applied. It was more that Crowley had never seen him let go of that little bit of stiffness he carried around like it could replace his sword. Without his regular tension keeping him at right angles, Aziraphale rocked back to let out a wide-grinned giggle then leaned easily back in toward Crowley. His eyes were deep and warm and his hand was fluttering on the table just a few inches away, drawing Crowley's attention every time it lifted briefly toward him. He looked like he had swallowed the sun. 

Crowley wanted to taste him.

Before he could think the urge through and stop himself, he had picked up Aziraphale's hand and pressed the soft skin to his mouth. It was warm and smooth against his lips, which suddenly felt very dry. Aziraphale's story stuttered to a halt.

"Crowley?"

Aziraphale's mouth stayed open in a perfect little circle of surprise. Crowley swallowed against his hand then placed it gently back on the table, quickly running through the past few seconds in his head. What had Aziraphale been talking about? Poetry?

"The last reading you dragged me to was enough to convince me that poetry was one of ours," he said, with his sibilants mostly under control, except for the last one. His hand was still on top of Aziraphale's.

"Hush," said Aziraphale, "or I'll perform a minor miracle and make sure their chapbooks all get published."

Crowley tilted his head toward Aziraphale, just slightly. He could feel one side of his mouth tugging up into a smile. "Just enough of a bastard," he said.

Aziraphale's cheeks were slowly turning the colour of a rosé. Crowley wanted to put his mouth on them, too. Then Aziraphale's hand moved under his and Crowley went to snatch his own back, but Aziraphale just rotated his wrist so that his palm was facing upward and linked his fingers through Crowley's, squeezing. Crowley squeezed back without thinking.

"Shall we go back to the bookstore and see if Adam restored the wine?" Aziraphale asked. His words were pitched a little higher than usual but his gaze was fixed firmly on their linked hands. The colour on his cheeks only enhanced the glow under his skin. Crowley suddenly felt very warm and very calm.

"Yes," he said, "but later. Finish what you were telling me, first. I'm not done looking at you yet."

Aziraphale's face now looked much more like a pinot noir than a rosé, but he squeezed Crowley's hand again, leaned back in his chair, and kept talking. Crowley slowly stroked along the edge of Aziraphale's thumb with his own and listened.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also AliaCivis on Tumblr :)


End file.
